Edward

Dinner had been long, good. Very French: a corner of Paris playing truant in London.

Their conversation? “Surprising frank” might be the best way to characterise it, given how closely together the tables were squeezed.

She blushed at how much the neighbouring diner must have heard, must know. ‎She sensed the stranger’s eyes follow her as she excused herself to climb the stairs to the loo. A knowing, curious, hungry gaze.

“It’s time I took you back to the hotel and dealt with you,” came the observation as she sat back down. A smile flickering across his face. “I was chatting to Edward here.” He gestured to their neighbour.

“We introduced ourselves whilst you were gone. He was quite fascinated by our conversation. I’ve invited him to come back to the hotel with us: I’ve offered him the use of your mouth and your arse. Now: take off your knickers, pass them to him, and he can tell me whether you’re a wet girl…”